


Orange, Bergamot, and Blood

by grasslandgirl



Series: Prompts and Drabbles [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Prompt Fill, Season 4 Spoilers, fuck you jonny I want them to be happy and i make the rules here, warning: lots of discussion of blood as a concept but no actual violence or serious injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22021336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/pseuds/grasslandgirl
Summary: prompt: "Just stay a little longer. Please" + Daisira---So it was dark, and there were noises from all around that would make nearly anyone other than Basira Hussain- ex cop, assistant archivist, possible servant to an evil beholding god- shake in their boots. But Basira was good at thinking on her feet, good at blocking out all information that wasn’t immediately requisite. It was a necessary part of the job. More than that, it had saved her life on multiple occasions.If Basira had had the time or the energy to be sentimental, she might’ve thought about how it was part of what made her and Daisy such a good team- Basira was good at the detail, the minutia, picking out what was important out of big picture and running with it; whereas Daisy was always good at the big picture stuff, long term threats, risk-gain evaluations in the blink of an eye, knowing when to hold Basira back, looking before they leapt, and when to follow into the fray.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Series: Prompts and Drabbles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1196569
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Orange, Bergamot, and Blood

It was dark in the archives. Not the Dark-dark, Basira remembered that from Ny-Alesund, how it clung to the edges of your vision like static and made everything dim and fuzzy. (She still had nightmares about Ny-Alesund, about Jon looking at their dark sun, about escaping from the encroaching darkness and it’s protectors via Helen’s tunnels- the lesser of two evils- but that was neither here nor there. Basira had a lot of nightmares.) No, this was the normal dark, the kind of childhood bedrooms, or the corner on your street with no lamp post. Completely mundane, utterly normal, and somehow all the more terrifying for it’s lack of the supernatural. 

It was dark, and Basira could hear screams and shouts and shots from what seemed like all angles as she dashed through the winding halls. The more she found out about Jonah Magnus and Robert Smirke and their fascination with the Entities as a group, the more she understood- the darkness of the halls and the stacks of the archives, the winding passages and back halls of the Institute, the scratching in the walls she heard some of the Institute employees- ones who still thought the Jane Prentiss incident was little more than an out of control bug infestation- discussing in the break room; there was something about the institute that made her feel like Elias- Jonah- whoever had been piecing together the Entities for far longer than any of them had anticipated, if she only had the time to _look a little closer-_

But she didn’t have the time. And really, given what had happened to Jon, she shouldn’t be _looking_ any closer into anything, if she could help it. 

So it was dark, and there were noises from all around that would make nearly anyone other than Basira Hussain- ex cop, assistant archivist, possible servant to an evil beholding god- shake in their boots. But Basira was good at thinking on her feet, good at blocking out all information that wasn’t immediately requisite. It was a necessary part of the job. More than that, it had saved her life on multiple occasions.

If Basira had had the time or the energy to be sentimental, she might’ve thought about how it was part of what made her and Daisy such a good team- Basira was good at the detail, the minutia, picking out what was important out of big picture and running with it; whereas Daisy was always good at the big picture stuff, long term threats, risk-gain evaluations in the blink of an eye, knowing when to hold Basira back, looking before they leapt, and when to follow into the fray. 

Basira _missed_ Daisy. Not always, not even most of the time, but sometimes- times like this- she missed Daisy-that-was, Daisy-the-hunter, Daisy-of-the-Hunt. She missed her instincts, her senses, her skill in a fight. It hurt Basira, in a quiet, personal place she never let anyone- not even Daisy- see, to watch Daisy, tired and emaciated. Grinning through rigorous physical therapy, not because she enjoyed it, not from any inch of happiness, but because Daisy knew Basira needed to see it. Because Daisy hated it when Basira worried, and hated it more when Basira worried about her. Basira didn’t want to miss Daisy, the Daisy-that was, Hunt-Daisy, but in moments like this, when the Not-Them was stalking the halls of the Institute again, and Julia and Trevor had shown up with bloodlust in their eyes- Basira recognized that, knew it from how Daisy used to look in the last moments of a chase, when she knew she had all but pinned down her quarry; Basira _didn’t_ miss that Daisy- and when Martin and Jon were nowhere to be found. 

Basira didn’t ever admit it (but that didn’t make it any less true), but she missed the Daisy that would always have her back.

Because this Daisy, Daisy-without-the-Hunt, Daisy-the-Human, Daisy-the-pale-and-thin-and-tired; Basira didn’t know how to fight alongside her. Basira couldn’t fight alongside her, because she would always feel the urge to fight in front of her, to protect this new, fragile Daisy. And Daisy would hate that, too. 

Basira was at the edge of the Institute, now. Some far-flung corner with seldom-used offices and dusty storage. Any shouting she heard was far in the distance, on the other side of the building. Basira ducked into one of the offices, closing and locking the door silently behind her, and finally allowed herself a few spare seconds to take stock of everything. 

There was a stitch in her side from running- she was out of practice, having left the force, and weaker than she used to be. She was out of breath and panting, but the adrenaline hadn’t run out yet, and she needed to take as much advantage of that as she could.

Slowly, as Basira leaned against the door and caught her breath, the memory of her last few seconds with Daisy washed back over her; the dam of numbness finally breaking. 

Her heart tightened in her chest, her breath caught in her throat- Daisy, shifting. Daisy, eyes turning to red-tinted slits. Daisy, her voice low and growly as she demanded Basira run. Daisy, alone against the hunters against the Not-Them. 

Daisy, making Basira promise to kill her the next time she saw her.

Basira took it back, all of it. She didn’t want this Daisy back. 

She wanted Daisy back, period.

She squeezed her eyes shut, even though it didn’t do much to stop Daisy’s voice ringing in her ears, that last image of Daisy, crouched and ready by the door as Basira turned to run. Basira tightened her hands into fists at her sides, short nails digging into the meat of her palms.

She exhaled, once, sharply. She opened her eyes. 

She had to keep moving. 

She had to get back to Daisy.

* * *

Daisy leaned against a wall, somewhere. Everything was blurry, and the scent of blood was making it hard for her to focus. Every breath, something in her jumped at the scent, only to realize again, every second, that the blood around her was old, dead. 

It roared in her ears like waves, like blasting music, like screams; and Daisy _hated_ that she didn’t hate it. That there was something comforting about the rush, the go-hunt-go-blood-kill-go feeling, the weight of the teeth in her head, the gun in her hand. She hated how she knew who she was in the Hunt; how sometimes it felt like it was the _only_ time she knew who she was.

They were gone- all of them, in one way or another. The Not-Them had splintered- almost. It wasn’t dead, _something_ in Daisy was sure of that, but between three hunters, they had done enough to push it back, out of the institute, back into some dark hole to lick it’s wounds. It would be back, she was positive; but it was gone for now. Trevor had gone next. He was old, and thought the Hunt had given him back his lungs, his strength, his speed, it wasn’t enough. Julia had fared better, and under different circumstances, Daisy might’ve killed her too. As it was, Julia wasn’t used to hunting without a partner, and Daisy was; that made all the difference. She wasn’t dead either, but she had slunk away from the Institute, and Daisy wasn’t dead either. Not yet.

She was tremulously and decidedly aware of every injury on her body, every spot of blood. It felt, almost, like she was back in the Buried. Frozen, unmoving, an unbearable weight pushing down on her, with no one willing to dig down and get her out. Only this time, it was the weigh of the Hunt, of the blood whispering in her ear again, lying over her shoulders like a mantle. She was so, so tired.

Daisy had closed her eyes, maybe for a minute, maybe for hours, when she heard- smelled- sensed something else moving in the institute. Instantly, she was on high alert, sitting shock still and straining to make out who- _what-_ was coming. 

Orange and cardamom and bergamot. Somehow, Daisy smelled it over the blood, all the blood. She wanted to pry her eyes open, wanted to sit up, wanted to run- away or towards, she didn’t know- but the weight of the blood was holding her down. Daisy didn’t move.

The scent got stronger.

“Oh,” Basira breathed, and something caught up and tangled inside Daisy’s chest. 

_‘Promise me.’_

‘No. _No, Daisy, we’ll figure something out.’_

_‘These last few months… it was always borrowed time, wasn’t it? Can’t outrun it forever.’_

_‘Daisy…’_

_‘Promise me.’_

_‘I promise.’_

_‘Thanks. Now run.’_

Her last words to Basira, the promise she made Basira make, flashed in Daisy’s mind, all screaming and growls and gunshots.

Basira had looked beautiful; Daisy had noticed it in the last few moments before the blood washed over her entirely, leaving her the Hunt’s plaything once again. Her eyes were wide and warm and brown, and her hijab was perfectly arranged, despite the old, stained scarf she was using. She was wearing one of Daisy’s old sweaters, and the gun in her hand looked more like a shiny metal part of her arm than a weapon. She was angry and determined and terrified, and deep down, buried far below all that, Daisy saw that Basira was heartbroken. 

But she had turned and run anyway. Because Daisy had told her to.

But now she was back, and Daisy didn’t know what she was going to do.

Daisy didn’t know what she _wanted_ Basira to do, at this point. 

“Daisy?” Basira murmured, and Daisy felt her kneel down beside her. She didn’t smell like blood, Daisy noticed, and tried to focus on that. On the same orange, cardamom, and bergamot lotion Basira had used for years. It was warm, and citrusy, and it had been one of the first things Daisy had noticed upon meeting Basira for the first time- the scent of her lotion. 

_Basira,_ Daisy thought desperately, _Basira._

But there was too much blood, too many teeth in her mouth to speak.

“Daisy,” Basira repeated, and it was less of a question this time, more of a confirmation. A prayer, Daisy would say, if she didn’t know better. “Daisy,” Basira said, and it sounded like she meant, _I’m sorry._

“Daisy,” Basira said, and it sounded like she meant, _I came back for you anyway._

“Daisy,” Basira said, and it sounded like she meant, _just stay a little longer, please._

“Daisy,” Basira said, and it sounded like she meant, _come back to me._

And Daisy pushed against the weight, felt the pressure of Basira’s hand on her knee, the scent of her familiar lotion over the blood, and forced her chin to rise, just a little.

And through the blood and the teeth and the pain, Daisy said, “Basira,” and it sounded like she meant, _I’m staying._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks a bunch to Maggie for prompting this it kind of got WILDLY out of hand but that's ok! [You can read/reblog the original post here,](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/post/189931079750/ok-for-that-super-long-post-im-gonna-send-you-like) and there's a link at the bottom of that post to the prompt list this prompt is from, I'm ALWAYS open to new prompts so feel free to drop me an ask!!


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